


Let Down

by edema_ruh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, I'm Sorry, Iron Dad, Loss, Nightmares, Not A Fix-It, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker-centric, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Morgan Stark, Precious Peter Parker, Spider-son, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 02:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: After Tony's funeral, Peter finds 8 recordings his mentor and father figure has left him during those 5 years he spent dead. Obviously, this only makes it harder for Peter to cope with his loss.Features Peter interacting with Morgan because he's the best older brother





	Let Down

The ride home is very quiet. 

He can tell Aunt May is desperate to talk to him, to hold him, to touch him, probably just to make sure that he’s alive, that he’s really there. And yeah, Peter can use that sort of comfort. He needs it, actually. So he slides over from where he had been sitting by the window of the car and snuggles closer to her, until they’re glued together on the backseat and his head is resting on her shoulder. She struggles to pass an arm around him, but once she does, she pulls him closer, holds him tighter. Her fingertips run softly between his hair, his scalp, caressing it in a way that Peter’s always enjoyed, in a way that has always managed to comfort him. 

In the same way she did on his uncle’s funeral. 

There’s not much that can comfort him now, he figures. Not even Aunt May, not even her gentle touches and worried glances. Not even the fact that he has just helped save the literal universe from death and doom. 

It hurts to breathe. The ache in his chest is dull but constant, and it hurts. It makes him tired. It makes him motionless. It renders him a victim of his own thoughts, his memories, flashes that are still bright beneath his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. 

But when he closes his eyes, Mr. Stark is still there. 

He decides that taking a nap couldn’t hurt him even further, and that’s what he does. 

 

 

 

 

 

May nudges him awake when they’re arriving at their apartment building, careful and clearly regretful to pull him from sleep. Peter is confused for a split second – he can’t remember where he is or recall what has happened to him. Much in the same state he was when he first came back to consciousness in Titan, surrounded by orange and dust and nothingness. 

He swallows dry. 

They step out of the car and so does Happy, silently making his way over to the trunk in order to grab Peter’s suitcase. In fact, it wasn’t his suitcase, it was Mrs. Potts’s, but she had leant it to him before he left, and it didn’t contain much more than his Spider-Man suit. 

Neatly folded. Neatly functional. As if nothing had happened between the first time Peter wore it and the last. 

It made him kind of sick. 

May is the one who picks the case up, not him, even though his arm is stretched and Happy was clearly trying to hand it over to him. May spares the driver a look, a meaningful look that Peter has not the state of mind nor the will to try to decipher. Happy returns the look and, instead of bidding his goodbye and stepping back into his car, stays where he is. 

May adjusts her purse on her shoulder and turns to Peter, offering him a soft, reassuring smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She holds his hand. 

“I’ll go up and get everything settled”, she announces, and before Peter can ask what she’s getting settled, she turns around and leaves, taking his suit with her. 

Leaving him alone with Happy. 

He looks tired. He looks older. And not just because of the five years that had apparently passed ever since Peter last saw him. 

“How’re you holding up, kid?”, Happy asks him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter stares up at him. 

He doesn’t know what he can possibly say to that. Happy must know – he has to know, right? He has to know that Peter – that he’ll – 

Well. 

“I’m fine”, he says. 

Happy stares at him. Peter wants to leave. He wants to go to his room and not think about what happened. He wants to distract himself and think about something else, anything else, something that doesn’t hurt and doesn’t make him want to crawl his way out of his own skin. He wants to do something that doesn’t make every breath he takes feel like a punch in the stomach. 

Happy squeezes his shoulder. There are heavy bags beneath his eyes. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen the stoic, ever-annoyed man look so devastated. 

Yeah, that’s the proper word. 

“I’ll be around if you need anything, ok?”, he says, and it makes Peter want to puke.  

He knew Happy kind of liked him, kind of put up with him, even though he always feigned annoyance and irritation by Peter’s youthful over-excitedness. But that was the problem: he always feigned annoyance and irritation. Peter wasn’t used to have Happy be nice to him, or gentle to him, and the sight of it, the sound of it, made him  _angry_. It made him furious and miserable and it hurt, because that was just another of the many reminders that everything had changed, everything was different, and nothing would be the same ever again. 

His chest feels tight and he can feel the tears rising to his eyes. His fight or flight instinct kicks in. 

“Yeah, sure, o-okay, thanks, Hap”, he manages to stutter. He turns his head away because he can’t quite look into Happy’s eyes, lest the man see everything that he’s hiding there, bottling up. 

 _That was inappropriate. All right, let’s start over. You can edit it._  

It’s actually kind of stupid how long it took Peter to notice that this was the same car. 

 _Three, two, one. Hey, May. My gosh. Uh, want to tell you what a incredible job your nephew did this weekend at the Stark Internship Retreat. Everyone was impressed._  

He swallows dry and lets out a shaky sigh. He can’t – he can’t stay there anymore. There’s an awkward silence stretching between them; neither of them know what to say. Neither of them expected to ever have this conversation. Happy wasn’t good at it, Peter didn’t want to do it. It was a dead end, really. 

 _That’s not a hug, I’m just grabbing the door for you._  

Peter feels sick. The pain in his chest is making his stomach twist and turn. 

He doesn’t think he can handle the sight of that car anymore. 

“Kid –“, Happy tries to say at the same time Peter blurts: 

“Uh, May’s waiting for me, so I should just go up already, but thanks for the ride, and, and for everything, man”. 

He averts his eyes upwards. Can’t look at the car, can’t look at Happy. He doesn’t want to cry again. 

He can feel Happy staring at him. 

“Yeah, ok”, Peter whispers before turning on his heels and heading into the building. He doesn’t look back to see if Happy’s still there as he enters. 

 

 

 

 

 

He isn’t surprised when he finds his bedroom still looked exactly the same. 

It feels wrong, but not for the reason everyone would assume. It feels wrong because Mr. Stark is dead and the world is still turning, not because five years passed ever since Peter set foot on his room. 

He didn’t think his penny had dropped just yet, regarding that whole five-year business. Dr. Strange had told him so, and everyone had told him so, and Mr. Stark had stared at him in the middle of that battlefield as if it really had been five years since they last saw each other, and he had hugged him as if it had been five years, and May cried and sobbed and first held him as if it been five years, and everyone kept acting as if it had been five years, but there was no way it could have been, because his bedroom was the same, Mr. Stark’s car was the same, the streets were the same, the building was the same, the house was the same, and how was it possible that he had lost so much, that so much time had passed, when everything still looked perfectly normal and ok and – 

He stared at his hand. It was holding his doorknob, which which had just been squeezed beyond repair. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding it so tight until the solid metal gave way beneath his grasp. 

He stares at it for a while. At least that’s not the same anymore. 

He steps into his room, and everything is still exactly where he left it two days (or five years) ago. The laptop Mr. Stark had given him still sits by his desk, his bunker bed, his closet, his shoes, his furniture. 

His phone sits on the top of his pillow. May must have grabbed it along with the backpack he left on the school bus at some point, a thousand years ago. 

He makes his way over to it and grabs it, clicking the lock button. The screen doesn’t light up, which is an obvious outcome. Not even a Stark Phone had a battery that could last for five years straight. 

He opens his drawer and finds his phone charger in the exact same place he always left it. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, but suppresses the urge to throw the damn thing out the window. He plugs it into the socket instead, connects it to his phone, and sits on his bed. As soon as the screen lights up, he turns the device on. 

He didn’t expect to have many notifications there. Half the world had turned to dust five years ago, there couldn’t have been many people sending him texts in that meantime. 

The phone turns on. As he expected, not much – just a bunch of missed calls from May from five years back. To see those numbers on the screen – the exact date he died, the exact date he turned into ashes, the exact date everything started to go wrong – was unsettling. It made it real. It made Thanos real, and the battle real, and the fact that Mr. Stark was gone real. 

Staring at his regular bedroom that looked exactly the same as before had given him some sort of comfort. If he just sat there in silence, he could pretend that nothing had changed. But staring at his screen – staring at those numbers, at those evidences, at May’s desperate texts asking him where he was and “oh my god, Peter, please let me know you’re ok”, that… That made everything painfully real. 

It was like being hit in the face with ice-cold water. It was like someone had suddenly turned up the brightness of reality, placing a sickening Instagram filter on his surroundings and making all the colors look sharper. He couldn’t take his eyes off that date – 2018, 2018, that was the year it was supposed to be. But his phone’s date kept telling him it was 2023, and it didn’t make sense, and it makes him want to throw the device against the wall and go to sleep. 

He couldn’t do that, though. Mr. Stark had given him that phone on his birthday. Top notch Stark tech. 

Or, well. It  _had_ been top notch Stark tech, five years ago. 

Peter finished reading through May’s texts, but didn’t listen to her voicemails. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He also found there were no messages from Ned on his phone, and wondered if his friend had turned to dust, too. If so, then why hadn’t they met on the afterlife? 

 _Was_  there an afterlife? Peter couldn’t really remember.  He didn’t even know he had died until someone told him about it. He thought he had just passed out, not...  _This_.  

It had been like he just went for a nap and woke up five years later – no dreams, no memory, no nothing. 

Was that it for Mr. Stark, now? A big, black universe of nothing?  

Could he even remember Peter? 

He locked the phone and set it away. He removed his shoes and lied on his bed. He stared at his ceiling, hating how it looked exactly the same as always. It no longer brought him comfort. 

It looked exactly as it had looked when Tony Stark first came to him, first talked to him, first entered his life. 

 _I’m_ _gonna_ _sit here, so you move the leg._  

 _Lordy, can you even see in these? Ooh, I’m blind!_  

 _So you_ _wanna_ _look out for the little guy, you_ _wanna_ _… Do your part and make the world a better place, all that, right?_  

Peter turned on his side and closed his eyes. There was a lot for him to process, and he didn’t think he could quite do that just yet. 

 

 

 

 

 

His first patrol felt amazing and awful at the same time. 

Amazing because it fit on the small, limited circle of things that managed to give him some resemblance to comfort, recently. Patrols were familiar – they were routine, they were muscle memory. They were a distraction – something to do, something to accomplish, something that made him useful. 

Awful because after you literally die on an alien planet, come back to life five years later, and help save the entire universe from imminent doom, nothing quite gives you the adrenaline rush anymore, and the patrols feel stupid and meaningless in the face of bigger things. 

When he gets home, May is waiting for him, and he doesn’t feel the need to hide. She knows. Of course she knows, even if she hadn’t seen him wearing the suit on that fatidic day, there was no way she wouldn’t know by now. She gives him a worried look, and he can see it in her eyes that she wants to make a hundred questions, but she doesn’t. 

There’s silence for a while. 

He smiles at her, even though he puts no effort into making it reach his eyes. She smiles back, looking sadder than anything, and hugs him. She breaks the hug and holds his face between both her hands, as if searching for any possible injury. She finds none. 

There had been no bandits, no thieves, no robbers, no assaulters, no villains, no nothing. Nothing to endanger people or hurt them. Nothing that he could do to help, or to make himself useful. Of course there wasn’t – the world had just gained half its people back. Everyone was too happy to commit crimes for a while. People would have little reason to complain for the time being, too busy celebrating what they had gained back. 

Peter was one of the few people grieving what they had lost instead. 

He goes to his room and strips out of the suit, throwing it on the top of his bed. The sight of it revolts him. The sight of it brings back memories, makes him remember things that send pain to his chest. Getting inside it earlier had been a herculean task; getting out of it only reminded him of why getting inside it had been so hard. He realizes he doesn’t want to wear the suit on the next day, or on the following one. He doesn’t think he wants to wear that suit ever again. 

 _I’m_ _gonna_ _need the suit back._  

 _For how long?_  

 _Forever._  

Peter folds the suit neatly, places it on the edge of his bed. He wants to put it away, he wants to shove it into his closet and never look at it again, but it’s like a car crash – he’s afraid of what he’ll see, but he can’t quite look away. 

 _If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it._  

He picks it up, opens his closet door, shoves the suit inside. Then he sees a red light flashing in the darkness. 

He bends down, picks it up with a frown.  

It’s his mask. The eyes are glowing red, blinking. 

Peter frowns. 

He pushes his bedroom door closed, shoves his mask on. 

“Karen?” 

“Yes, Peter?” 

“Uh”, he hesitates. “There’s something weird going on”. 

“What is it?” 

“The mask, uh, the eyes have a blinking light thing”. 

“Oh. That is the alert for new messages”. 

A pause. 

“New messages?” 

“Yes. When my server receives a new message, the eyes in your mask will light up and blink until you listen to them all”. 

Peter is silent for a while. His instincts are shouting at him to bid Karen goodbye and put the thing away for good, but something stops him. 

“W-What… What messages?”, he ends up blurting out, chest tight from anticipation. 

“Let me check”, she announces. There are a few seconds of tense silence. “Since you were away from Earth, it took your suits a while to sync up with the Stark server”. 

Peter’s chest tightens at the mention of the name. It shouldn’t – he was bound to hearing that name everywhere he went, especially since it was currently all over the news – but everything was still too recent, too close to home. 

“You have 8 new voicemails”, Karen announces. Peter feels like an idiot, standing there in the middle of his room on his underwear and with only his Spider-Man mask on, but he’s far beyond caring.  

Because he’s smart. He has a vague idea of what must be going on. 

“Why didn’t they go to my phone?”, he asks in a small voice which already knows the answer. 

Karen hesitates. It’s weird for an AI to hesitate, but Peter knows damn well who programmed her. The only person who made robots feel human. Act human. Sound human. 

The most human of them all. 

“They are from Mr. Stark, Peter”, Karen says, and if he didn’t know she was just a bunch of code written perfectly and flawlessly, he would have sworn there was grief in her voice. 

Maybe there was. Peter wouldn’t doubt Tony’s ability to achieve that. 

“He sent them personally to you”, Karen adds upon his silence. It felt like she was trying to be careful, aware that was a sensitive subject for him. 

He stares at nothing, mind rushing, heart sinking. 

Messages from Mr. Stark. Maybe the last opportunity he’ll ever have to hear his voice, to hear his words directed to him.  

But also, the last time ever. Definitive. Once he hears it, it’s over. No more new messages, no more new words, no more advice. That will be it. Forever. 

His vision becomes blurry and wet. He removes the Spider-Man mask and throws it against his wall, and it topples to his bed. He shuts the closet door with a bit more strength than necessary, covering his face with both hands. His eyes stings, and hot tears run down his cheeks. He doesn’t make a sound. He’s careful not to.  

He sniffs and wipes his tears away with the back of his hands. More tears roll down, and he repeats the process. Over and over again. 

The pain never goes away. 

If he hears it, he gets to listen to Mr. Stark one last time. If he hears it, it will be over forever. 

God. He didn’t have this trouble when he decided not to listen to May’s voicemails. 

But May was still there. 

He sniffs and wipes his tears away one last time before putting his pajamas on. He paces, bites on his nails, feels like punching a hole through the wall (but doesn’t). He picks his phone up again. Sets it down. Picks it back up, puts it back down. He runs a hand across his hair and breathes a shaky, wet breath. He feels like a mess, and probably looks like one.  

He decides he would have given anything to hear one last message from Uncle Ben. It shouldn’t be different with Tony. 

It feels different, but it shouldn’t be. 

He makes up his mind. 

He walks out of his room, finding May at the living room. She immediately looks up as soon as he steps out, staring at him with evident worry, which immediately makes him feel guilty. 

“Uh, I just – I just wanted to tell you I’m off to bed”, he says, feeling awkward. How could he not be? His aunt had spent five years living without him. Five years trying to cope with his death. Five years thinking she would never get to see him again, thinking her last words to him had been “see you later, honey!”. There was no way he could just act normal around her, after everything they had both gone through.  

After everything he was still going through. 

She looked older. There were more grey hairs on her head, the bags beneath her eyes were more evident. He remembers her utter despair when she first saw him, straight out of battle, face bloodied and bruised and marked with tear tracks; being dragged into their apartment by Happy and Rhodes, who had unsuccessfully tried to urge out any sort of response from him.  

His eyes had been wide, and his limbs, motionless. Everyone thought he had suffered a nasty concussion, but, in reality, he was just having a hard time processing everything. Karen had been yelling something that sounded like “shock” in his ears as he was dragged towards his bed, but Peter was the only one who could hear it through the mask.  

Going to an alien planet. Dying. 5 years dead. Back from the afterlife, straight into battle again. Hugging Mr. Stark. Watching him die. 

It had taken him a while to get back to his senses. 

When May had appeared in front of his catatonic form, sobbing and yelping and shaking horribly, hugging him and grabbing him and screaming things Peter couldn’t understand, he had finally snapped out of it. Well, not completely – but just enough to hug his aunt back and reassure her that yes, he was fine, he would be ok, he wasn’t hurt, he was alive. 

They hadn’t had much opportunity to talk after that. He took a shower (which he could barely remember), caught some sleep. Woke up, still pretty much out of it, grabbed breakfast, got ready for the funeral. He trusted Happy and Rhodes to disclose everything for her in that meantime. 

Peter knew they desperately wanted to leave so that they could comfort Mrs. Potts, so he let them. Said he would find a way to get there on his own. And, as much as they obviously didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone in such a time, in such a state, they didn’t stay.  

They didn’t stay. 

May stares at him, curious. 

“So soon?”, she asks. He can hear everything she wants to say but can’t in her voice – are you ok? Are you depressed? Do you want to talk? Do you want to open your heart? Is there any way I can help you? How do I talk to you about this? 

“Yeah”, he swallows dry and shrugs. “It’s a school night”. 

May stares at him in disbelief. 

“Baby. You’re not going to school tomorrow”, she says, sounding almost offended that Peter would even consider such a thing. 

“Aunt May –“ 

“Peter”, she interrupts, standing up. She’s frowning. “You’re in no state to go to school. You need time to heal”. 

“I already told you I heal fast –“ 

“I’m not talking about your injuries”. 

He stares at her. There’s silence. 

“I – I gotta –“, he swallows dry again. He can feel himself tearing up, but sucks it up. He doesn’t want to make her even more worried. “I gotta go to school. I gotta study, I gotta –“, he shakes his head. Bows it. 

“Peter”. 

“I gotta do something”, he continues, voice breaking. “I gotta study. I gotta – I gotta do something. I gotta distract myself”. 

She places her hands on his shoulders. So soft. So light. 

He looks up at her. Her eyes are moist too. 

“I’m sorry, baby”, she says, sniffs. “I’m sorry you had to though that again”. 

That’s Peter’s breaking point. 

He sobs, face scrunching up in pain, and May pulls him closer, holding him tight. It’s evident she’s trying to give him all the comfort she can’t give him through words, that she’s trying to put all her love and care into that hug, but Peter’s heart is broken, and not even May can put the pieces back together. 

He’s devastated. And he’s not sure he’ll ever stop feeling that way. 

“Let’s make a deal. If you really, really want to, you can go to school tomorrow. But if you prefer, we can both stay over. I can call in sick, and I can call the school to let them know you’re not coming”. 

Peter’s head is buried in the crook of her neck, and he’s clinging to her. He finds that he’s having trouble looking directly at her, seeing how much she’s changed in these five years that were only two days for him. 

“The whole world’s a mess right now, Peter. I doubt you’ll even have classes tomorrow. Everyone’s still trying to understand what’s happening. Half the world came back to life out of nowhere”. 

“Wasn’t out of nowhere”, he blurts out, voice thick with emotion and tears. 

There’s an awkward pause. 

“You’re right”, May agrees, running her fingers across his hair. “But – baby. I’m worried about you. And I –“, she sniffs again, chest trembling. “I missed you so much. I – I just got you back. I don’t want to see you go again”. 

 _I don’t_ _wanna_ _go, I don’t_ _wanna_ _go, sir, please –_  

“Oh, Peter”, she sobs, burying her face on the crook of his neck in the same way he was doing to her. “Oh, baby. I missed you so much. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d lost you”. 

She pulls back from the hug, giving him an angry look that doesn’t feel intimidating at all, given the way her glasses are blurry. 

“Don’t  _ever_  do something like that to me again”, she says, voice thick from tears, and then hugs him again, tighter than before. 

Peter lets her. 

“I’m sorry”, he says, sobs, cries. He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing or to whom, but he feels the need to do it anyway. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”. 

“I know, honey. It’s not your fault. I know”, she repeats, even thought she’s crying too. 

She pulls back again, giving him a sad smile and wiping Peter’s tears away with her thumb, even though her own face was covered in them. 

“I’m so happy you’re here”, she tells him, sounding sincere. Peter tries to smile at her, but she must see it in his eyes that he’s not ready to do that just yet. She squeezes his shoulder again. “I’ll tell you what. How about –“, she removed her glasses in order to clear the tears away from the lenses. “You go to school tomorrow, see your friends. And then we grab some fancy lunch together when you come back?”, she offered, placing her glasses back on. 

Peter gave her a tiny smile. He nods, not meeting her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sounds great”, he says. 

“Good”, she nods at him. “And we can talk. You know, about… everything”, she suggests.  

He says nothing. He can’t even look at her properly. Upon Peter’s silence, she adds:  

“Or not. It’s up to you, really, honey. I don’t want to force you into anything”. 

He blinks several times and sighs before nodding at her. 

“No, it’s ok”. 

“It’s just – I think it would be good, you know?” 

“I know”. 

“If we talked about it”. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right”. 

“But if you don’t want to –“ 

“No, it’s fine –“ 

“I mean. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to”. 

He finally looks at her. 

“It’s fine”. 

She studies his face for a while, then nods. 

“Ok”, she says. 

“Ok”, he repeats. 

Silence falls upon them. 

He nods. 

“Uh, so, I’m gonna –“ 

“Yeah, sure”. 

“Head to bed now. Get some sleep”. 

“Yes, of course. You must be pretty tired”. 

“Y-Yeah. You should – You should try and catch some sleep, too”. 

“Yeah, I will”, she smiles. “Don’t worry about me”. 

“All right”. 

“All right”. 

He takes a few steps back, awkward. May stays where she is. 

He’s approaches his bedroom door. 

“Peter”. 

“Yeah?” 

She chuckles, but there are still tears in her eyes. She looks happy and sad, all at the same time. 

“I love you”, she says, voice full of emotion. 

Peter’s eyes sting. His chest feels so tight, it’s about to explode, it must be. 

“Love you too”. 

May smiles. 

He enters his bedroom and closes the door. 

He leans his head back against it for a while, staring straight ahead as if preparing himself. 

Then he makes his way to his bed. 

Grabs the mask. 

Stares at it for a while. 

He lies down. Settles back. Stares at the ominous blinking light that sparkles in the darkness of the bedroom. 

Tries to make up his mind. Tries to make a choice. 

 _Mr. Stark, we won! We won, Mr. Stark! I’m sorry. Tony, I’m sorry._  

He puts on the mask. 

 

 

 

 

 

“This thing on?” 

The first thing Peter notices is how weak Tony’s voice sounds. 

“Well. Hey there, Parker. Peter. Underoos”. 

A pause. 

“I don’t – I don’t really know why I’m recording this. I mean, you’re gone, and we lost, so there’s no point in this other than trying to make peace with myself after a lousy defeat. But I don’t know. Maybe I’m – delusional, or just hungry, or maybe I’m actually dying. Not really how I thought I'd go, but... I’m not really sure. It just felt right to send you this message, even if you’ll only hear it from the afterlife”. 

Peter’s chest throbs. 

“Anyway. Digressing. Back to the main subject. You. Kid”. 

There’s a pause. A long pause, in which the only thing Peter can hear is the sound of Tony’s labored breathing. 

“Well. I don’t really –“, he sighs, gasps, sounding exhausted. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I recorded one for Rhodey, then one for you, next one on the queue is Pep… But I don’t really know what to say, Pete”. 

It feels like someone is squeezing Peter’s heart. Smashing it, pulling it apart. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stand someone calling him that nickname again. 

“I mean. If you ever hear this – then I’m sorry. And you should really take advantage of this moment of fragility, because I’m probably going to die in this spaceship, in the middle of nowhere, so there’s no point beating around the bush. I’m just going to spill the beans to you, because – well”, another sigh. “You’re important to me, kid. You’re – You’re –“ 

Another long pause. Tony sounds disoriented, tired. Peter didn’t even know he’d been trapped in space, and to know that he had feared for his death, that he had thought he was about to die and decided to record a message for him – that was… That was… 

“I’m sorry, Pete. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry I failed you”. 

“You didn’t”, Peter whispers softly into his pillow, tears running down the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It was irresponsible and a mistake and I...”, he sighs again, confused. “I’m sorry you – I’m sorry I couldn’t stop that guy, I couldn’t – I’m –“ 

“What are you doing?”, a new voice says into the recording. Peter recognizes it, but he can’t remember where from. 

“Just tying up some lose strings”, Tony responds after a pause. 

“You shouldn’t be up”. 

“Listen, Blue Women Group –“ 

“You need to rest and save your energy”. 

A heavy sigh. 

“Look, I know your thing is that alien vibe in which things are very practical and all that, but I need –“, he stops himself, sounding a mixture of annoyed and frustrated. “I need to do this. Ok? You cope by doing that thing where you stare at the wall as if it had personally attacked you and sharpen your knife, which is creepy, by the way, and I cope by doing this”, a tapping sound. 

There was silence. 

“All right. But don’t overwork yourself”. 

A sigh. 

“Well, that was anti-climatic”, Tony continues, and Peter can’t help but to let out a choked laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Anyway, Pete. Wherever you are, I hope – I hope you can forgive me”. 

Silence. 

“I hope you can forgive me, kid. I hope I can make it up to you”. 

Another pause. 

“I will. I  _will_ make it up to you”. 

The silence stretches for so long that Peter almost convinces himself that the recording has come to an end, until he hears Tony whisper in a broken voice, which sounds almost wet: 

“God. What will I tell his aunt?” 

And then the recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey kid”. 

Silence. 

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this. I mean – it’s been almost a year. Since everything. Since Thanos, and Titan, and… Well. Since you’re gone”. 

A sigh. He can hear Tony’s fingers tapping on a surface nearby. 

“Anyway. There’s no point in this, really. I think it’s just a way to let the steam out, open my heart a little, because I’m kind of freaking out and Rhodes’ won’t get here in time and Happy’s with him and I don’t know –“, the sound of something breaking. Probably a pencil. “Well. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t even know what I’m doing, really”. 

Another pause. 

“Pep’s – she’s – she’s going into labor. Right now. I’m on – I’m on the waiting room. They didn’t let me go inside. Not a lot of doctors around, these days, and they don’t want to risk anything, so… Leave the husband out, right? Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention that. We got married”. 

Silence. 

“Gosh, I can’t believe I’m asking a teenager for advice. But in my defense, you were a baby about three years ago, and I was a baby a lifetime ago, so baby priorities are fresher in your mind than in mine”. 

Silence. 

“And it’s not like you’re gonna answer anyway”. 

A heavy sigh. Wetter, this time. 

“I know it’s been a while, Pete. Sorry about that. It’s just – I’ve been busy. Coping. Thinking about stuff, about what to do now… I’ve…” 

Silence. 

“I’m rarely at a loss for words, so this is a bit embarrassing. But I’m stressing out over here, so ranting is a better option, I guess. Anyway. I don’t know. We didn’t want to know about the baby’s gender, you know, so it can be a surprise, and Pep insisted we painted the room a neutral color because she didn’t want to do that gender reveal bullshit and I agree with her. I mean, half of the world is  _dead_. Who cares about a baby’s assigned gender, right? But I – we, we discussed baby names. I like Morgan, if it’s a girl. That’s pretty much settled, and since it’s after her uncle, Pep agrees. But if it’s a boy – Well. You know“ 

A pause. Peter feels a knot in his throat. His tears are making his face ridiculously moist. 

“I think if it’s a boy, it’s gonna be  _Anthony Jr_.”, Tony settles for saying.  

Peter can’t help himself – he ends up chuckling. It’s wet and ridiculous, but it is a laugh. Tony does the same.  

“What, you thought I would say  _Peter_ ?  _Golly_. You think way too much of yourself, Parker”. 

It’s probably the first time Peter smiles in days. And he misses Tony. He misses him like hell. 

There’s an awkward pause. 

“Also… I don’t think it…”, he hesitates. There’s no longer humor in his voice. “I don’t think I would… You know”. 

Silence. 

“It would hurt too much”. 

The smile vanishes from Peter’s face and he’s brought back to his painful reality. 

“Anyway. Thanks for listening, Underoos. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are”. 

Hesitation. 

“You’re a good kid”. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hiya, Pete. Peter. Kid. Uh –“ 

Peter’s face immediately scrunches up in worry. He’s never heard Tony sound so shaken before – not even in the recording where he had been trapped in space, dying. This Tony sounds frantic, anxious, nervous. He sounds like he’d been crying, like he can barely breathe. 

“Uh, I don’t know why I’m recording this, really. I really didn’t want to turn this into a personal therapy or something of the kind, but I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out, Pete. I mean, Morgan, she was – she followed me into the workshop, I told her not to, but she did it anyway, the little devil, and she grabbed – she grabbed a wire, it was – I mean, she could have been electrocuted, and I freaked out, and I yelled at her, and she started – I mean, she was sobbing, and Pep had to take her up and calm her down, and I’m – I’m kind of losing it”. 

Tony breathes. It’s hard and unrhythmical, as if he had just run a marathon. Peter desperately wants to help him, even though that has already happened. Even though that’s a message from the past, from a time in which Tony was still alive. 

It hurts. 

“You know, this is  _exactly_  why I never wanted to be a father. I mean – I”, he pants. “I never wanted to be like him. I told you I wanted to break away from the cycle of shame, remember that? I never wanted to be like Howard. And now Morgan’s crying and she probably hates me and – God”, he gasps. “Shit. I think I’m having a panic attack, I don’t know – I don’t know what I’m doing”. 

He gasps, pants, wheezes. All Peter can do is listen, heart racing inside his chest. 

“I thought I could do this. First there was Harley, then there was you, and I mean, honestly, kid, this is going to sound so cheesy but I’m past beyond the point of caring because you’re gone and I miss you like hell”, he rants. “I saw you, and I thought I could do it. I thought I could, I swear to god. I thought I was ready. But – I’m  _not_  ready. I thought I could figure it out along the way, that I could be better than Howard, but Pete – she was crying, she was afraid, I don’t want my daughter to –“, he wheezes again. “God, I mean –“ 

“Tony?”, Pepper’s muffled voice asks from somewhere in the distance, sounding urgent. “Are you down there?” 

“Shit. Crap. I’d better – I’d better go, I don’t know – I’m coming! – I – I’m sorry, Pete”. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey kid”. 

Tony sounds a lot more casual than on the first recordings. 

“I feel like I owe you some kind of explanation for that last audio. Not that you’re ever going to hear it, but it feels kind of messy and going through it again it felt like it required a bit of closure. Anywho”. 

A small pause. 

“For starters, baby was a girl. So, no Anthony Jr., just little Morgan H. Stark. You probably caught that from context, but anyway”. 

A tiny, humorless chuckle. 

“And she’s so smart, Pete”, Tony continues, pride evident in his voice. “You would love to meet her. I can picture clearly your eyes getting all wide in horror the moment she says something creepily smart to you. Sometimes I’m afraid to be alone with her – feels like she’s gonna give me all the answers to the universe the moment there’s no one around as a witness. And then no one would believe me when I said it was a two-year-old who gave me the answer to the meaning of life etc. Because – well. She’s – she’s my everything now”. 

A sad pause. 

“Things are easier with her around. I mean – it’s still harsh. Some days are better, some days are worse, but that’s just life. But she kind of makes it easier. Feels worth it, you know, when I see her toothless smile. And god, this is so cheesy, I’ve grown into a sentimental old man, but I love her so much, Pete. And yes, I know this doesn’t make any sense from a biological point of view, but she reminds me so much of you. I don’t know, I think I always saw myself in you, and now I see myself in her, and she has all the good parts of me that were good parts of you. I mean, she’s a little genius, she makes the funniest jokes, and now that she’s learning how to speak she just won’t stop, Pete, and when she rants at me with those sparkly eyes and that excited voice all I can think about is –“ 

Silence. A heavy sigh. 

“Well. About the wire thing – everything is settled now. She isn’t upset anymore and Pep told her I only yelled because I was worried, so now we’re at peace. She also promised not to go into the workshop without permission anymore – which is a promise she’s already broken, by the way –, and she promised not to grab any wires ever again – which is a promise that remains unfaltering, thank  _god_ , because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost this kid”. 

A pause. 

“I – I don’t think I could handle going through that again”. 

A sigh. Peter finds he’s crying again, sniffing, gasping. 

It takes a while for Tony to continue. 

“Anyway. Morgan is on that phase where she’s obsessed with bedtime stories, and I’ve been telling her a lot about you. About Spider-Man. About the stuff you did, how you got your spider-powers, how you save people without batting an eye… You’re her favorite hero, you know? I was a bit upset that her favorite wasn’t Iron Man at first, but c’mon, Pete. Who could compete with you? Also, I didn’t tell her Iron Man was a superhero, just my nickname, so she doesn’t know. Don’t feel so proud of yourself, Underoos”, he adds. 

A sad chuckle. Peter ends up mimicking it. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. And Morgan loves you, so at least… At least you won’t be forgotten. I’ll make sure of that, ok?” 

An awkward pause. 

“Well. I should get going. Let me know how much you’ll charge me for those little therapy sessions later”, Tony says. 

There’s silence. 

Something that sounds suspiciously like sniffing. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“I miss you, kid. God, I miss you so much. I was showing Star Wars to Morgan and she’s too young to pay any attention, it was a stupid idea, but then that one part in Empire Strikes Back came up and –“ 

A pause. A wet sight. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. God, I wish I could let you know how sorry I am”. 

There’s silence. The longest one so far – it lasts almost five minutes, and Peter spends that time listening to Tony’s breathing. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, kid –“ 

“Daddy?” 

“Hey, what are you doing up, young miss?” 

“I can’t sleep”. 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t tell me a bedtime story”. 

“Uh, yes, I did”. 

“No!” 

“I did”. 

“You just told me to sleep”. 

“Yeah. It’s the world’s shortest bedtime story”. 

“No! Wanna hear about Spider-Man”. 

A wet chuckle. 

“You really have a perfect timing, don’t you, Magoona?” 

There’s a sound of shuffling and a grunt, as if Tony was picking weight up. 

“Fine. I’ll tell you all about Spider-Man. For the 3000th time”, he says. 

“Yay! I love Spider-Man!”, Morgan celebrates. 

Tony chuckles. 

“Yeah. I love Spider-Man, too”. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi, Pete”. 

Peter can immediately tell something’s wrong by the somber tone of Tony’s voice. 

There’s a sigh, and a pause. It sounds like Tony’s preparing himself for something. 

His chest tightens in anticipation. 

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. This is… This is hard to me, but I talked to Pep, and to Rhodey, and even Happy stepped in, and we…” 

A sigh. It sounds heavy and emotional. 

“I can’t keep doing this, Pete”. 

 Peter stares straight ahead. His eyes are swollen from crying. His face feels moist and his limbs feel heavy. He anxiously awaits for Tony to continue, but the silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity. 

“I thought I could. I thought I could make it work, and, for some time, I did. But this thing I’m doing – this isn’t...  _good_. For anyone. I’ve been doing these recordings as a coping mechanism, and it’s worked for a while, but it’s not… It's not exactly healthy”. 

A shaky breath. A pause. 

“You're gone, Pete. It breaks my heart and I’m sorry, but you  _are_ gone. And I've got to accept that. I've got to  _acknowledge_  that. I have a daughter now, a daughter who needs me in this frightening scrap of a world which is all that’s left from what we had before. And I have to –“ 

 Tony sighs again. It sounds shaky and wet and almost like he’s about to lose it. Almost like he’s actually  _nervous_ about this. 

“I can’t keep living in the past. I can keep recording messages as if you’re actually going to listen to them someday. I can’t keep pretending that you didn’t – that you didn’t –  _die_  – in my  – in my  arms –  _shit_  –“ 

 There’s a loud bang, as if Tony had just slammed his fist on the table, and he takes a series of deep breaths as if to calm himself down. It takes him a while to speak up again, and when he does, his voice is thick with emotion. 

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re still around”, he concludes, and he sounds so upset, so heartbroken, in a way that Peter has never heard before, never witnessed before.  

It sounds stupid, but it is on that exact moment that he realizes that Tony must have missed him in the same way he is missing Tony. And, if that was even possible, it breaks his heart in a way that earns a sob out of him.  

“I have to let you go so that I can move on and make something that honors your memory”, he adds, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Peter. “Staying in denial will do nothing, for anyone. And I know”, he chuckles humorlessly, “I  _know_  that you’re probably  going to  be really disappointed  about not getting to listen to my amazing messages anymore,  and I am sorry, but I  _have_  to do this”.  

 Another pause. This time, the only thing Peter can hear is the sound of Tony’s breathing. It's growing labored. 

“I have to do this for me and I have to do this for  _you_ . Because I made you a promise, right? I promised you that I wouldn’t let the wor l d forget about Spider-Man. And I intend to live up to that promise. But   if I keep doing this – if I keep ...   _pretending_ nothing’s wrong – if I keep pretending I can talk to you whenever I want, I'll – I’ll get nowhere. It's a dead end”. 

Silence. 

“I have to – I have to let you go Pete. I'm sorry". 

Peter closes his eyes. It feels like his world is coming undone. 

“God. And to think I used to say I wasn’t nostalgic”, Tony whispers, something akin to annoyance in his tone, but not quite. 

Not quite. 

 The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, bud. It’s been a while”. 

Silence. 

“Almost three years, now. Feels like yesterday”.  

 He’s sighs. 

“Feels like an eternity, too". 

There’s a pause, as if Tony’s trying to figure out what to say next. He ends up sighing again and, even though he sounds exhausted, he seems almost frantically urgent at the same time. As if he has something to say, something that needs to be heard, but can’t find the words to express it. 

“So, funny story”, he settles for saying, in that casual tone of his. “I was doing the dishes last night, because it was my turn, and I accidentally splattered water on a photo frame that was near the sink. I don’t know why Pepper placed it there, but she has some weird rules for placing photo frames and I never really questioned her about it. Anyway”. 

There's a sound that’s half a laugh, half a scoff. Tony's put up that mask he used to wear whenever he was uncomfortable with something. Peter listens with attention. 

“When I picked up the frame to clean it up, I saw it was that silly photo we took that day back when you concluded the ‘Stark internship’. Remember that? The bunny ear one?” 

A soft smile appears in Peters lips. He can also hear Tony’s tiny chuckle on the recording. Of  _course_ he remembers that day. How could he ever forget?  

It was one of the best days of his life. 

“That brought a lot of memories back. Stuff I had stopped thinking about. Stuff I still thought about sometimes. Stuff I wanted to forget”. 

The sound of tapping. Tony was clearly nervous, sounding like he was about to make a big decision. 

"Anyway, I’m ranting again. And I know I told you no more recordings, but yesterday, before the doing the dishes thing, something crazy happened”. 

A sigh. A long pause. 

“So, um... Cap stopped by. Nat and that ant guy were with him. Weird reunion. Mostly awkward. Definitely not what I had in mind”. 

The sound of tapping increases. 

“But what they had to tell me was just... I mean”, he sighs again, and he’s been doing that a lot. Peter can just feel the sadness and melancholy irradiating from his tone whenever he does it, and it makes him upset to a level he can’t begin to describe. “It was  _crazy_ , Pete.  _And_ ridiculous. You would love it”. 

Peter ends up smiling softly again, even though he’s still frowning and there are still tears shining in his eyes. 

“Gosh, I can perfectly picture the way your face would get all lightened up the  _moment_ Lang mentioned Back to the Future. I can just picture it, kid”, Tony chuckles, but it sounds more tiredly affectionate than humorous. 

Peter would give anything to hug him again. 

“But point is... I figured it out”. 

Silence. 

“I figured it out, and... I mean, I wouldn’t have done it without you. I – I just wanted to thank you, Pete”. 

Peter's chest feels tight and constricted. Pieces are starting to glue themselves together. 

“And now that I figured it out, there’s no point in stopping the recordings anymore, right? Because, if we do this, and I'm pretty sure we  _will_ do this, because we’re a bunch of traumatized old men with survivor’s guilt... There might be a chance you’ll actually get to listen to these someday”. 

Another pause. 

“So yeah, that’s what I wanted to tell you. We're trying this crazy time-travel thing tomorrow, and there’s a lot that could go wrong, and I'm not being pessimistic, just realistic. There's a  _lot_ that could go wrong. There's a...”, he stops himself, trails off, and Peter can hear the emotion in his voice, the tiny waver it gives off. “But, well”, he forces himself to continue, and Peter can perfectly picture the fake smile Tony must have put on as he says the words. “That’s just the superhero business, right? If things always had a chance of going right, then the world wouldn’t need us. Wouldn’t need you”. 

Silence. 

“Because it needs you, kid. And sure, I'm doing this because billions of people were turned into dust and taken away from the ones they loved, but this...”, he sighs. “This is for  _you_. This is for all of them, but this is for you, too. Because – Because I finally have a chance, a solid, actual chance of seeing you again, Pete, and god, what wouldn’t I give to do that”. 

Peter sobs again. He feels like the whole world is coming apart around him, crumbling, falling, burying him in a deep well of sadness, sorrow and grief. The only time he’s felt this much pain was back when he caused Uncle Ben’s death, and even then it hadn’t felt so hard to breathe. 

Mr. Stark had done it because of him. He had accepted to be a part of the plan in order to save him. He had figured out time-travel for Peter. 

And he was dead because of him. 

“Anyway. This is getting ridiculously cheesy, now. I've turned into a soft old man”, he huffs a breath out through his nose. “But what I meant to say was – see you soon, Pete. Hopefully. If everything goes right and doesn’t blow at our faces”. 

Peter sobs again, hugging himself on the bed. His vision is so blurry from tears that he remembers what it had been like, wearing glasses before he gained his super-powers. 

There's a pause. A long silence that stretches, as if Tony wants to say something else but can’t find the courage to. 

The recording ends. 

 

 

 

 

 

When Peter sees Ned at school on the following day, he’s bearing a grim face and red-rimmed eyes. A soft smile finds its way to his lips as he spots his best friend, though. As Peter approaches him, they do their usual handshake, and it almost feels like nothing’s changed, it almost feels like they weren’t five years behind of everyone, now. 

But it wasn’t. The same. Everything was different. 

And Ned wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for Mr. Stark.  _Peter_ wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for Mr. Stark. 

Even though seeing Ned again was one of the few highlights he’s had ever since what happened, happened, he has a lousy day at school. 

 

 

 

 

 

He grabs the fancy lunch with May, but can’t bring himself to smile. He feels horrible about it, because his aunt is worried and the least he could do after everything is to try and reassure her, but he can’t. He just can’t do it. Halfway through the meal, he excuses himself with a shallow smile that doesn’t even reach half the way to his eyes, and goes cry in the bathroom. 

 

 

 

 

 

He wakes up in a cold sweat, dreams of explosions and blasts jolting him into awakening. He tries to sleep again, but fails. He knows everyone will notice the dark bags under his eyes, and now that people are getting used to the fallen ones being back, patrols are gradually starting to become a necessity again. But Peter can’t wear the suit Mr. Stark gave him. He can barely stand the sight of it. He  _can’t_ , so he goes back to wearing his old, makeshift one.  

 _You’re in dire need for an upgrade._  

It feels like a downgrade. But it’s better than having a breakdown and making Spider-Man cry in front of bad guys. 

 

 

 

 

 

“It wasn’t worth it, kid”. 

He wakes up in a cold sweat, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. 

That's a worse nightmare than the alien one. And he can’t bring himself to forget the accusation and the regret in Tony’s voice as he tells him those words. 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy tries to talk to him. It's weird and it makes Peter uncomfortable, not because Happy is being creepy or anything, but because he was the one who used to reach out for Happy, and not the other way around. Each text he receives, each call he declines, only serve as a reminder of what he’s lost, and of how much things have changed. And he wished he could talk to Happy about it, or maybe May, or anyone, really, but he can’t, he won’t, he doesn’t think he’s ready to. 

What can he possibly say? “I’m the one responsible for Iron Man’s death”? Everyone would tell him he’s wrong, and that it wasn’t his fault. But Peter knows better. Peter knows exactly who’s to blame. 

Just like he had done with Uncle Ben, he had brought Tony’s end. 

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be loved without causing destruction. 

 

 

 

 

 

He thinks about Morgan a lot. About her growing up without a father, without the man who so clearly loved her. He thinks about the fate he has thrusted upon this innocent little girl, and it makes him break down more often than not. He finds himself crying and sobbing as quietly as he can, always trying to hide it, always pretending he’s fine whenever he’s around May or Ned. They know he isn’t fine, but they also know he’s grieving. They don’t push him, they give him time to heal, without knowing that he won’t be able to heal, that he won’t be able to move on. 

Some people move on. Peter is not one of them. 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy finally shows up after Peter doesn’t answer any of his attempts at communication, which is frankly surprising, but in a bad way. Peter didn’t want to talk to Happy, or to see him. Seeing him reminded him of Tony, and it reopened all the wounds he was trying and failing to sew up. 

But Happy’s standing at his door, and it isn’t like Peter has the option to simply shut it on his face. So he lets Happy in, puts on his “I’m ok, just taking my time to heal” mask and even asks him if he wants a cup of water or something to eat, even though he thinks May hasn’t gone shopping so all they’ve got is a couple biscuits and peanut – 

Happy cuts him short by pulling him into a tight hug. 

It feels nice. Then, it feels horrible. It's amazing, and it’s their first hug ever, and Peter wants to break away from it because it reminds him too much of the things he was so desperately trying to not think about. 

 _Hold on, kid, hug me._  

“You need to stop that”, Happy tells him sternly when he breaks away from the hug, and at least that scolding is familiar. Peter frowns at him. 

“Stop what?” 

“You’re doing the same thing he used to do”. 

Peter's heart twists. 

“I - I d-don’t know –” 

“Putting up a mask will do more harm than good. I speak from experience”. 

Peter stares at Happy, a knot sitting heavy in his throat. Happy rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“Kiddo. I was Tony’s friend for decades. I know what he used to do, and I know what you’re doing, and let me tell you it isn’t going to work”. 

Peter lowers his eyes. 

“I’m saying this because I'm worried, ok?”, Happy continues, sounding uncharacteristically sincere. “Everyone is”. 

“You don’t have to worry about me”, Peter protests. 

“Yes, I  _do_ ”, Happy immediately retorts. “That’s actually kind of my job, now. Tony was very specific”. 

Peter looks up at Happy again, eyes widening and searching his face for something. He doesn’t understand. 

“ _What_?” 

“Oh, come on, kid. You knew him”, Happy sighs, sitting down at Peter’s couch. “You really think he would throw himself on a risky mission that could go wrong in a million different ways without leaving a message behind for everyone? You've probably heard yours; I heard mine, too”. 

Oh. 

“And the thing about Tony”, Happy continues, and yeah, hearing the name aloud still hurts, “is that he liked you so much because he saw himself in you. He was a genius, kid. He knew you wouldn’t cope if you came back and he didn’t”. 

Peter swallows dry. 

“I’m coping”, he tries. 

“Ok, let's establish something here – your BS has no effect on me, Parker”, Happy points a finger at him. “I was one of Tony’s best friends. I can read through masks like these, especially when they’re built out of guilt”. 

Peter lowers his eyes again. He doesn’t know what he can say in response to that. 

There's a moment of silence, awkward and tense, where neither of them say anything. Happy just sits there, staring at him; Peter just stands there, not meeting his eyes. 

“Look”, Happy sighs eventually, standing up again. “This wasn’t your fault, kid”. 

Peter scoffs, head bowed. 

“Yeah”, he agrees, just to put an end on the conversation. Happy isn’t convinced. 

“I’m serious”. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, I know”, Peter concurs, sounding nervous and fake. 

“Peter”, Happy places a hand on his shoulder, urging him to pay attention. Peter meets his eyes again, but his own are wet and glistening from unshed tears. He tries his hardest not to allow his face to scrunch up, and holds back the sob that’s rising past the knot in his throat. 

Happy looks at him, and he looks sorry. There's sympathy in the eyes that once had shown him nothing but sternness, nothing but annoyance. Peter wants to crawl away from his own skin and go lie down in a hole for a while, alone, by himself, with no thoughts or memories or pain. 

Happy squeezes his shoulder. Peter tries to keep his façade up. 

“Tony loved you. Like you were his own. He would never blame you for this –  _never._ He would be happy that you’re alive, kid”. 

The façade crumbles. 

Peter sucks at this, if he had to be honest.  

Happy lets him have his breakdown, and even holds him through it. 

Those were words he needed to hear, but not words he was ready to accept just yet. 

 

 

 

 

 

He's nervous and shaking when he arrives at the house, empty suitcase in his sweaty hands. 

He places it beneath one armpit so that he can press the doorbell, not knowing what to do with himself as he waits for somebody to answer the door. He feels awkward and misplaced, much in the same way he had felt back on that day, when they... 

He sighs, takes a deep breath. Shifts his weight from one feet to the other, one feet to the other. Gets on the tip of his toes in order to try and see inside the house. Fails. Shifts his weight again. 

Maybe he should just leave. Maybe he should head back. Coming here was a mistake. His connection was with Mr. Stark, not with Mrs. Potts. He didn’t want to be inconvenient, or to impose himself on her. 

Yeah. He should leave. He shouldn’t have come in the first place. 

He's in the process of turning on his heels and walking away from the porch when the door behind him opens. 

“Peter?” 

He stops on his tracks, back turned to her. He takes a shaky breath to give himself courage (it doesn’t work) and turns around, awkwardly holding the suit to his chest. 

“H-Heeey, Mrs. Potts”, he greets, voice forced. She looks tired and worn out, but manages to give him a smile that feels sincere and puts crinkles in the corner of her eyes. 

“You took your time”, she comments, raising an eyebrow at him. Peter feels embarrassed, taking a hesitant step closer to her. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that”, he says nervously. “I meant to give this back to you sooner, but everything’s been crazy, you know, with all the stuff that happened and school didn’t cancel classes, which sounds ridiculous, but what can you do, right”, he chuckles nervously. 

He's still clutching the suitcase to his chest like it’s a lifeline, and once he becomes aware of that, he jolts and hands it over to her. Pepper stares at him for a while, trying to read him, before taking the suitcase from his hands and stepping aside. 

“I wasn’t talking about the suitcase. But why don’t you come in?” 

Peter hesitates, mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. He holds his hands in front of himself awkwardly, now that he doesn’t have anything to hold. 

“O-Oh... Well, I don’t think - I mean, I'm not, I'm not so sure, Mrs. Potts, I just wanted to give you back the suitcase and I was about to get going –” 

“Sure, because the suitcase is the only reason why you’re here”, Pepper crosses her arms above her chest and leans on the doorframe, giving Peter a look of sheer disbelief.  

Peter stares at her. She stares back. 

Silence. 

“There’s someone who’d like to meet you”, Pepper announces before stepping back into the house. She doesn’t look back to see if Peter is following her, which leaves him no other choice but to do exactly that. 

Back at the day of the funeral, Peter didn’t have much time – or desire – to talk to anyone. So he watched the funeral and went back home, May keeping him company and giving him support at all times. 

He did see the little girl who was accompanying Mrs. Potts, but besides receiving a silent hug from the grieving woman and seeing the little girl hide behind her legs, he didn’t interact much with her. 

As he steps into the house, he sees her. Pepper has set the empty suitcase on the counter, and Morgan is hiding behind her mother’s legs, looking scared and hesitant. 

Pepper crouches down and tells her something Peter could have heard using his spider-sense, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t pry. Morgan stares at him with a suspicious look, then back at her mother. Pepper smiles at the little girl and places a stray curl behind her ear, telling her something else. Morgan stares at Peter again. 

She looks hesitant, but eventually makes his way over to him. Peter doesn’t know what his face looks like on that moment, but his fear of what’s about to happen outweighs the heavy pain in his chest. Morgan approaches him, stops right in front of him, and reaches up. 

She grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs at it. Even though she’s just a child, he finds that there’s authority in that gesture, in a way that’s a creepy mixture of Tony-authority and Pepper-authority. Peter obeys, and crouches down in front of her. 

She immediately leans over towards him, cupping her hands around her mouth as if she was about to tell him a secret. 

“Are you Mr. Spider-Man?”, she whispers in his ear. There's childish curiosity in her voice, but also something akin to fear. 

Peter feels his eyes grow moist again. He stares up at Pepper, who’s watching them from the kitchen, and she gives him a nod and an encouraging smile. 

He gently holds Morgan by her shoulders and pushes her slightly back, so that he can look in the face. 

Her eyes are Tony’s eyes, but they’re innocent and young. In the exact same way Tony’s must have been, back before all his suffering and tribulations. 

It breaks Peter’s heart. 

“If I tell you, do you promise to keep it a secret?”, he asks her, voice thick with emotion. He musters a small smile at her. She still looks suspicious, but she nods silently. 

Peter smiles at her, and the muscle movement makes one tear escape his eye. He quickly wipes it away before she can think too much about it, but she’s Tony’s kid, there’s no way she isn’t smart enough to realize it. 

“Yeah. I’m Spider-Man”, Peter nods at her, his hands looking big upon her tiny shoulders. “But you can call me Peter, if you want”. 

Morgan's eyes widen. 

“Peter?”, she asks, excited, as if she had just discovered all the secrets in the universe. And Peter loves her, he realizes. He's known her for less than five minutes, and he loves her. 

She's a part of Tony. She's Tony’s heart. There's no way she couldn’t love her, especially from the way she smiles at him as if he’s the best thing she’s ever seen, and from the way her smile is also Tony’s. 

He misses him. It aches. 

But then Morgan hugs him, and it takes him a few seconds but he hugs her back, and the way her tiny little hands cling to his shirt makes his heart break all over again. 

Morgan breaks the hug, still looking excited, and Peter feels like breaking down into sobs again, because there’s no way this child is fully aware of what’s happening. There's no way she understands her father is gone, and she is never seeing him again, there’s no way she knows it’s Peter’s fault. 

If she did, she wouldn’t be so happy to see him. 

She tugs at his shirt again, this time urging him to follow her. He gets to his feet and looks at Pepper, as if asking for permission, since this is her house, not his. She nods at him again, a bittersweet smile on her lips. 

Morgan leads him up the stairs and into what can only be her bedroom, opening several of her drawers and making a bit of a mess – Peter doesn’t know how to stop her – before successfully pulling out what she wanted to show him. 

It's a Spider-Man underoos. 

“Daddy gave it to me for my birthday because I’m Spider-Man's number one fan”, she explains in that child-like way, staring at him excitedly. 

Peter stares at the pretend-suit. He doesn’t know what to do or how to feel, so he places it on the top of her bed and crouches down in front of her again, forcing a smile to his lips. 

“Really? You are?”, he asks, feeling so much love and affection for this little person that it almost makes up for the pain. 

Almost. Not quite. 

“Yeah!”, she exclaims happily. She's missing a few baby teeth already, he realizes. 

“Wow”, he says, smiling at her despite his tears. “I can’t believe I'm getting to meet my number one fan! This is such an honor!” 

Morgan smiles widely and hugs him again before immediately running towards her toy cabinet. 

“Look!”, she announces happily, picking up a Spider-Man plush and a Spider-Man plastic toy. “It’s you!”, she hands the toys over to him, still smiling. 

Peter picks them up, staring at them. 

There’s no way Tony bought these toys somewhere, especially in the middle of a world crisis where billions of people died. He must have gotten them done. He must have ordered them somewhere. 

This is too much. Peter can’t help himself – he sniffs and his tears run down his cheeks. He covers his face before Morgan can see him cry because he doesn’t want to disappoint her, but she simply stands there and stares at him, no signs of judgement or disappointment on her face. 

“Agh - I'm sorry”, Peter tells her, voice thick, trying to wipe his tears with the back of his hands at the same time he held the plush in one hand and the plastic toy on the other. 

“It’s ok”, Morgan tells him, in that child-like way that tries to sound mature but fails. “Daddy said it’s ok to cry”. 

Peter looks at her, eyes red-rimmed and glistening. She looks serious, and takes the toys from his hands. He lets her, and she places them back where she had gotten them from. 

“Sometimes I cry, too”, she tells him, walking back to him and sitting in front of his crouching form on the floor. Peter took the cue and sat down, too, resulting on them both sitting with their legs crossed in the middle of her bedroom. 

“Oh, yeah?”, Peter asks her. 

“Yeah. I miss my dad”, she says, looking upset. She lowers her head, holds her own feet. Tilts her head to the side, then to the other side. Then she looks up at him. “Are you crying because you miss him too?” 

Peter’s face scrunches up, but he bites his lips and holds back tears for her sake. She's smart and incredible; there’s no point in lying to her. 

“Yeah”, Peter admits, sniffing. “I... I miss your dad”. 

“Hm”, Morgan hums, looking away. “He missed you, too”. 

A few tears escape Peter’s eyes. 

“He said you were clever and you liked to make science stuff on the lab”, Morgan continues, and she’s so young and innocent that Peter wants to make sure this little girl never suffers in her life. “I asked him to teach me how to do the science stuff, but he said I was too small and needed to grow up first”. 

Peter chuckles wetly. 

“Yeah, he was right”. 

“But I don’t want to do the science stuff, now”, she says, not looking at Peter and still fiddling with her shoes. Peter frowns. 

“Why not?”, he asks. 

“I wanted daddy to show me”, she says, voice low, head bowed. Peter's chest feels on fire. 

He feels guilty again. He looks at her, and he sees Tony – he sees what he’s lost, what she’s lost, what he’s taken away from her. 

He bows his head, too. 

“I’m sorry, Morgan”, he ends up saying. She looks at him, curious. “I’m sorry about your dad. I – I wish there was something I could do about it”. 

“Mommy said there’s nothing we can do”, she shrugs, still looking upset. “I asked her if she could use the science stuff to make daddy come back, but she said no”. 

Peter wipes his fallen tears away and offers her a sad smile. 

“Yeah”. 

“Can Mr. Spider-Man bring daddy back?”, she asks him, and her question is so innocent, so pure, so curious, that it sends tears to Peter’s eyes again. 

“I’m - I'm - I don’t think he... can”, he swallows dry, struggling to meet her wide, brown, expressive Tony-like eyes. She looks upset, but not disappointed. 

“It’s ok”, she says, shrugging and looking down again. 

Peter doesn’t know what to do or how to act. She's just a child, and even though she’s obviously smart, she can’t understand the weight of guilt or his role on her father’s demise. He wants to make her happy, so he can at least find some level of atonement, but he can’t bring her father back. The least he can do is to try and cheer her up. 

“Hey, you wanna see something cool?”, he asks her, and her childish eyes immediately spark up with curiosity and joy, grief forgotten in the face of a new adventure. 

“Yes, please”, she says, getting on her knees and leaning forwards. 

Peter pulls his sleeve back and reveals a web shooter attached to his wrist. He still needed it, even if he had gone back to using his first makeshift suit. 

“You wanna know how Spider-Man swings around?”, he asks her. She stares at the device on his wrists with wide eyes. 

“Yeah!” 

“All right, so here it is”, he says, and begins explaining to her, as simplistically as he can, how his web-fluid and web-shooters work. He even shoots a web at her ceiling and lets her swing on it for a bit, earning a lot of laughs and excited cheers. 

“Yay! I’m like Mr. Spider-Man!”, she celebrates, tiny hands grabbing at the web string tightly. 

Peter watches her having fun and smiles. That was the least he could do for her, and it brings him some sort of relief to know that he managed to put a smile on that little girl’s face. 

 

 

 

 

 

“You could stay if you want, you know?”, Pepper tells him. 

Peter scratches at the back of his neck, awkward. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks, Mrs. Potts. But – B-But I'd better get going, you know? May’s waiting for me, and I don’t want to make her worried, especially not after...”, he trails off with a sigh. “Uh, well”. 

Pepper smiles at him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I understand”. 

He looks at her. 

“Mrs. Potts...”, he starts, but she shakes her head as if she knows what he’s about to say. 

“Don’t”, she says, but he does it anyway. 

“I’m sorry”. 

“Peter...” 

“I heard the messages he recorded. I know it was my fault”. 

Pepper sighs heavily and looks at him, arms crossed above her chest. 

“It wasn’t your fault”. 

“It was –” 

“Peter. The whole world was at stake”, she interrupts, serious. “He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself, if he had the means to do something and didn’t”. 

Peter looks at her, eyes moist. 

“Yeah, but he would  _live_ ”. 

Pepper lowers her head, clearly fighting back tears. 

“Yes. He would live with guilt. He would live with grief”, she shrugs helplessly at him, giving Peter an almost apologetic look. “He wouldn’t live a happy life”. 

Peter stares at her with a heartbroken expression. 

“I miss him like hell, Peter”, she admits, hugging herself. “Somedays, I wake up and... It’s just too hard. I'll always be heartbroken. But I've made my peace”. 

Peter lowers his head. He knows what’s coming. 

“You should try and make yours”. 

He shakes his head. Holds back his tears. 

“How can I?” 

She sighs, takes a step closer to him. Places a hand on his shoulder. 

“He loved you”. 

Peter looks up at her, eyes wet and pained. 

“He really did. Losing you was one of the hardest things he ever went through, and he went through a  _lot_ ”, she says. 

He stares at her, a few tears escaping his eyes. 

“Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and...”, she trails off with a wet breath. “He would... He didn’t have peace, Peter”, she bites her lower lip. “Morgan helped, but she... Sometimes she would say something, or do something, that reminded him of you. And I could just see the misery in his eyes”. 

Peter lowers his head. 

“Just like I can see them in your eyes, now. In a way, you’re very alike”, she points out, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Everyone keeps saying that”, Peter comments, voice small. 

“Because it’s true”, she offers him a tiny smile. Her face is also wet with tears. “He loved you. And he wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself, especially because it’s not your fault”. 

Peter stares at her. 

“He did that so that you could have a life. A good life. Not a life of sadness and guilt”, she says. “And I know moving on is hard.  _I_ haven’t moved on. Happy hasn’t, Rhodey hasn’t. We all need to take our time. And maybe we’ll never get over this, maybe you won’t, but you need to try to have a happy life. To do good. To take the chance he’s given you and make it worth it. You shouldn't waste it". 

Peter runs the back of his hand beneath his nose, across his cheeks. He can’t meet her eyes. 

“That’s what he would have wanted”, she concludes. 

Peter sniffs and nods at her, still not meeting her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know”, he agrees, voice breaking. “You’re right”. 

“I am”, Pepper nods. “And I also mean it. But –”, she adds, squeezing his shoulder again. “You don’t have to do it alone”. 

He looks at her. 

“I know how much Tony meant to you, and how much you meant to him. You're a good kid, Peter”, she smiles softly at him. “And I'll be here for you, for anything you need. As Pepper  _and_ as CEO of the Stark Industries”. 

Peter looks away. His heart still aches. 

“I – I mean, you really don’t have to, Mrs. Potts –”, he tries to protest, embarrassed. 

“Yes, I do”, she cuts him off with authority. “You’re family, Peter”. 

Peter looks at her, pain evident in his eyes. 

Huh. Family. 

Who'd figure. 

“Mommy?” 

They both look at the stairs, where Morgan is standing in her pajamas, hugging the handrail and looking nervous. 

“Hey, baby”, Pepper immediately makes her way to her. “What are you doing up?” 

“I want a bedtime story”, the girl whines. Pepper smiles. 

“All right, sweetheart. Mommy is just finishing talking to Peter, and she’ll be up in a second, ok?”, she tells her with a sweet smile. 

“No!”, Morgan protests. “I want Mr. Spider-Man to tell me a story”. 

Pepper looks at Peter. Then, she looks back at Morgan. 

“Baby, Peter has to –” 

“It’s ok”, he interrupts her before she can continue. Pepper stares at him again for a few seconds. 

“Peter... It’s ok, you don’t have to –” 

“No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s totally fine”, he takes a step forward, forcing a smile to his lips. “How could I say no to my number one fan?” 

“Yay! Spidey!”, Morgan exclaims, running up the stairs with excitement. Pepper takes hold of Peter’s shoulder again before he can follow her up, a questioning look in her eyes. 

“Are you sure about this? If you want to, I can –” 

“It’s ok, Mrs. Potts”, he nods at her, averting his eyes and biting his lower lip. “It’s the least I can do, right?” 

Pepper tilts her head to the side and sighs, giving Peter an affectionate look. 

It's Peter’s turn to hold her shoulder. He squeezes it, and nods. 

Then he goes up the stairs to Morgan’s room. 

“All right, Ms. Stark”, he says, picking her up with little to no effort and placing her on the bed, tucking her in. “What story do you wanna hear?” 

“Spider-Man!”, she cheers, smiling. 

“Yeah, ok, that’s fair”, Peter says, sitting down on the edge of her bed and looking at her. “But I have a better idea. Wanna hear about it?” 

Morgan stares at him with squinted, curious eyes. 

“How about I tell you a story about other superhero, huh?”, Peter says. 

“Other superhero?”, Morgan frowns. 

“Yeah. You wanna hear about Iron Man?” 

Morgan chuckles. 

“That’s daddy!” 

“Yeah, it is”, Peter smiles at her. ”But did you know he was a superhero, too?” 

Her expressive eyes widen with interest. 

“He was?” 

“Yeah”, Peter smiles. 

“And he was friends with Spider-Man?” 

“He was”, Peter raises his eyebrows at her, nodding. 

“I wanna hear about it!”, she exclaims. 

Peter smiles at her, fondness and love blossoming in a broken heart. 

“All right, so. A long, long time ago, waaay before you were born, there was this alien invasion on New York...” 

 

 

 

 

 

He isn’t healed. 

It still hurts. It still aches. It's still hard to breathe sometimes. 

The dreams don’t help. In fact, they only make everything worse, and Peter finds himself getting stuck in realistic memories even when he’s not asleep. 

But Morgan helps. He understands, now, why Tony stopped recording for three years. Pepper helps, with her personal and corporate support. Happy helps. Even Rhodey helps, even if they weren’t so close to each other before. 

They become close. 

Because Pepper was right – by loving him, Tony had made him a part of his family. And that family took care of each other. 

Peter may have lost a father, and he may never recover from that. But he had won a lot on the way, too, and that was just about how good it could get. 

He would never forget Tony Stark. He still lived in Morgan’s eyes, in Pepper’s sarcastic remarks, in Happy’s annoyance, in Rhodey’s jokes. 

He still lived in Peter’s heart. 

And he would never die.  

**Author's Note:**

> This is clearly my own personal way to project and (sort of) deal with my own grief after watching Endgame three times. It still hurts.  
> Anyway. If you're interested, read my other Iron Dad stories on AO3. No one dies in them, at least.
> 
> Kudos and comments mend a writer's broken heart, so pretty please?
> 
> (You can find me on tumblr as edema--ruh and on twitter as @turbofitzs)
> 
> (Title is from a Radiohead song of the same name)


End file.
